


With or Without You

by Maxamillion



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst; forbidden love; clash of cultures, Biting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxamillion/pseuds/Maxamillion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missei, a Zabrak, and Iylan, a human woman, are drawn to each other despite their differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With or Without You

**Author's Note:**

> I am not an expert in Zabrak culture, etc and have made most of that part up (but I think it's pretty darn good). This story could take place at any time/place in the Star Wars universe. There are no Star Wars characters. But thank you to Lucasfilm and all for their creativity and inspiration.

Iylan had not expected his voice to be so gentle. She had met him over twenty-four hours ago, and he had not said a word until now, merely nodded or stared back at her with cruel yellow eyes. But now that they were assigned with working together on the spectrum generator, he spoke his first words to her.

  
“Do you have the photofusion spanner?”

  
It was a soft baritone, no particular accent, quiet. It took her a few seconds to respond as she pondered the sound. She had expected his voice to be harsh and aggressive like his appearance. She had not met any Zabrak before this, but had certainly seen them. They were a fairly culturally isolated race, and a bit mysterious to her. What she did hear about them did not endear her. They were reputed to be a rather arrogant people, stubborn, and elitist. One could even call them racist toward anyone other than their own. It was said that the men were chauvinistic, domineering, and aggressive. Their bizarre appearance, especially their facial tattoos, made them look even more fierce and unapproachable. Missei was no exception.

  
She at last registered that he was patiently waiting for a response to his question. She checked herself and passed him the spanner. He nodded, returning to his silence.  
They passed the rest of the workday only speaking a handful of words to each other. But they had gotten a lot done. His knowledge and efficiency matched her own, and they were able to anticipate each other’s needs. Although she would have preferred a more jovial workmate, and certainly a less intimidating one, she was glad of his expertise.

 

The small group of scientists and technicians had been assembled to put the finishing touches on a research station near the Vendocran Nebula. There were only nine of them, plus the space station’s seven crewmembers. The station was very large, but only a small portion of it was residential, so between the living quarters, mess hall, and small common room, they would all have to get used to each other.

  
Roughly half of those assembled in the space station were humans; of the rest, most were humanoid. It was probably an unfair percentage, but most technical work did necessitate the dexterity associated with humanoids. Unfortunately, most sentient beings, humans especially, tended think in an ethnocentric way. Despite the many diverse intelligent beings and nations in the galaxy, and the fact that the members of the scientific crew were highly educated, there was bound to be misunderstandings.

  
The first example of this was a heated interaction between Iylan and Missei on the third day.

  
“You are wrong.” Missei’s voice, though still low and quiet, had taken on a harsher tone.

  
It was a dispute over the most efficient program to use to decode the refractor net. She had been pushing him to use the metionic formula program instead of the traditional program for the past twenty minutes, but he stubbornly refused to listen. Not only was Iylan certain that she was, in fact, not wrong, but his patronizing tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She took a deep breath, tried to calm herself.

  
“Listen, Missei, if you would just try it, you’ll see that it is much faster than the one you’re using.” He ignored her, refusing to meet her eyes, and she saw his jaw tense as he gritted his pointed teeth. She tried again.

  
“I am not used to females telling me what to do,” he snapped.

  
She raised her eyebrows at this. “Really? Really?” He turned his fierce face to her, but she refused to be cowed. “I don’t care who you are and what you’re used to. I’ve been doing this kind of work for seven years now.”

  
His voice lowered again, but there was still impatience and some menace to it. “I, too, have been hired for my expertise in this field. Do not presume to tell me…”

  
“I’ll tell you whatever I want, Missei. Just because you’re too damn stubborn…”

  
“If you had not been pestering me so…”

  
The bickering continued and an audience began to form. The three techs who worked in the next research pod had clustered at the door, watching them argue back and forth like some sort of angry ballgame.

  
Missei rose from his chair, towering over Iylan. He was huge, well over six feet tall and broad shouldered. She suddenly realized that she should shut up, but in a last showing of pride, slammed her notescreen down and stomped out of the room, the techs hurriedly dodging her and returning sheepishly to their work.

 

 

They avoided each other for the rest of that day, but the next day had to return to their duties together. They spoke as little as possible. Occasionally one of the techs would peer into the room, monitoring for further entertainment (or bloodshed). Missei would glare at them and they would scurry off.

  
After several hours, he at last broke the uncomfortable silence about their conflict. “You were right about the program.” It was barely a whisper, and Iylan wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. His horned head was bent over the control panel they were operating on, and he refused to meet her eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, took a deep breath, and barely resisted the impulse to say I told you so.

 

  
***

 

  
Iylan got on very well with most of the other scientists and techs. A Tech Lead named Bennet, a human with a florid complexion and boisterous laugh, was a particularly jocular addition to any gathering, and tended to rule the table at meals. Iylan secretly believed he was a drinker, but it certainly had never shown in his work. He was full of lively stories and quick with a joke. Occasionally, though, the jokes would be at the expense of others. It was usually pleasant teasing, but at times it reached too far.

  
Although Missei joined them all for meals, he was generally late and rarely ate much. He was silent except when asked direct questions, and had a constant sour expression on his face. Though everyone had noticed, no one said anything until Bennet saw fit to rib him about it.

  
“The soup was good tonight. Don’t you think, Missei?” Missei said nothing. “Oh wait! Of course he couldn’t possibly know. The soup was the first course, and he’s always late. Too busy with tambrak-oh to join us?” There was a mixture of laughter and awkward silence.

  
A small Mithean woman, called Soofa leaned toward the Zabrak, her brown eyes curious. “Tambrak-oh? What is that?”

  
“It is a martial art form of one of the Zabrak subcultures,” Missei replied.

  
Bennet continued with his teasing. “And you get yourself so angry you can’t enjoy our fine food. Come on, Missei, we have some good cooks here.” Missei continued his meal in silence and eventually the spotlight fell away from him.

  
Iylan found herself leaving the dining area at the same time as Missei. Although she hadn’t joined in on the laughter, she couldn’t help but feel awkward about the incident. “I’m sorry about dinner. That was pretty uncomfortable.”

  
“You did nothing wrong, Iylan.”

  
“Still…”

  
They were quiet for some time, but at last she had to break the silence. “So what’s this martial arts thingy?”

  
“Tambrak-oh? It is not common in my tribe. I haven’t even attempted it since I was a child.”

  
She chuckled at that. “So what the hell are you doing every evening? Just avoiding the soup?”

  
“Praying,” he answered.

  
She felt like an idiot and decided to cover it up with a joke. “Praying for better soup?”

  
He smiled. He actually smiled. His eyes lit up, and his face softened: still ferocious, but smiling. She relaxed and returned the smile.

  
After a moment he turned to go to his quarters. Halfway down the hall, before he entered his door, he answered, his deep voice echoing in the bare corridor, “Praying for some spice.”

 

The next morning Missei arrived at the breakfast table to discover a jar of ground fireflower and a pot of intensely spiced pepper sauce next to his plate. He looked across at Iylan and smiled gratefully. She winked in reply. A broad smile grew on her face as she watched Missei spoon the sauce over his dish and bite into the now pungent breakfast. He closed his eyes, savoring the food, and she could see his body relax. Their eyes met again, and he bowed his head at her in thanks.

 

  
***

 

  
The conversation in the lab was much easier from that point on. He was still a quiet person, but he responded to her much more comfortably and smiled more often. He would laugh lightly at her jokes. In fact, he was more relaxed with the other crewmembers as well, which, in turn, caused them to feel less intimidated by his presence.

  
Three weeks had passed since they first arrived at the space station. They all worked from waking until dinner, and sometimes even after that. Considerable progress had been made on all the operations, so the site supervisor, a rather severe Milotian woman named Kaat, declared that they could have a day off from work. It was a welcome (and frankly overdue) reward, and they all planned to celebrate accordingly. There was not much to do on the small space station, but Bennet, of course, put himself in charge of drinking and entertainment. They were all looking forward to it.

  
Iylan had slept in, lolling in bed in her tiny quarters until near lunchtime. Hunger at last roused her from her cocoon, and she dressed and left for some food. She wandered down the hall to the mess, and found herself dismayed that Missei was the only one missing.

  
“Soofa, where’s Missei?” she enquired.

  
Soofa smiled good-naturedly at her; she was such a sweet little woman. “Oh, you just missed him, dear. He just had a quick bite and left.”

  
Iylan cocked her head, curious about what on this small hunk of metal could be occupying him. “He better not be working today,” she grumbled. “He needs to learn to relax. And anyway, if he’s working, I’m going to feel obliged to do the same.”

  
Karoma, sitting across from her, smiled. “You two are so competitive with each other.”

  
“Yeah, I guess,” she admitted, her mouth full of food. She hadn’t really thought about it, but she supposed that his chauvinistic Zabrak nature prompted her to be her best, to prove to him that as a woman she was just as good as him.

 

  
***

 

  
After lunch she wandered down to the lab, expecting to find him attached to some project there. But she was surprised that he was not, in fact, there. She found herself walking back toward the living quarters, for some reason intent on finding him; but before she could turn to the stairs, she spotted him out of the corner of her eye in an empty storage room off a side passage.

  
He was a blur of motion, his dark red and black skin flashing in quick movements. She moved closer, stood in the doorway watching him. He was stripped to the waist, his powerful, lean muscles flexing with his graceful movements: bends, kicks, twists, and quick slashes with his long arms. It was a mesmerizing sight.

  
In a slow, lithe arc he bent and turned, then spotted her. He stopped and straightened. “Iylan.”

  
“Don’t let me stop you,” she insisted. “It was beautiful.”

  
He smiled.

  
“Is this that martial art you were talking about?”

  
“Tambrak-oh? No. This is the art my tribe practices: Kembrak-ti-oh. There are some differences…though I won’t bore you with the details.” She smiled back, and there was a comfortable silence.

  
“Are you always down here, doing this?”

  
“I don’t often have the time,” he admitted, “But I certainly don’t have the space in my room.”

  
She chuckled, imagining him kicking holes in the walls of his tiny quarters.

  
“Would it be impertinent for me to ask you to teach me some?” There she was, she thought wryly, trying to keep up with or compete with him again.

  
He surveyed her petite form. She was no Zabrak, but she was fit. He beckoned her closer. “You’ll want to take off your shoes,” he suggested. She took them off and the light jacket she wore. It certainly seemed like she would work up a sweat.

  
She had to admit to defeat after a short time. She quickly lost track of the Zabraki terms for each movement, and no matter how slowly he moved through the most rudimentary of steps, her aching muscles shook with effort. He was surprisingly patient with her, though, and expressed appreciation of her attempts. Occasionally, when she was about to fall over in a giggling heap (which she did several times) he would reach a hand to her waist to steady her. She was amazed at his strength and balance, and at last conceded, after one of her tumbles, that he was never going to make a master martial artist of her.

  
“You’re tired. We’ll try another day.”

  
“I look forward to it,” she said.

 

  
***

 

  
It was not a ladylike position. She was on her stomach, her bottom and legs sticking out of the capacitor housing. Occasionally she cursed or grunted. Missei knelt down beside her, waiting patiently for her to complete her task. She cursed loudly.

  
“Do you wish me to do it?” he asked.

  
She pulled her head out of the housing and blew her hair from out of her face. “Do you know what to do?”

  
“No,” he admitted. “Do you?” He said it with a teasing voice, and she raised her eyebrow at him and retreated back into the housing.

  
After another minute of cursing she called out, “The problem is I’m just not strong enough. Or I need to grow another hand… or something.”

  
“Let me help.” He crawled in awkwardly after her. “Move over.”

  
“I can’t really,” she said, shifting onto her side. “You’re much too big for this you know.”

  
“Believe me, I know,” he grunted. His bulk filled what little room there was left in the small space. She felt his warm breath on her cheek; his shoulder pressed uncomfortably into her chest. “What do you want me to do?”

  
She gestured further into the housing. “You see that valve?” He nodded. “Turn that when I say to.” He stretched his right arm up at an awkward angle and grabbed the valve. Iylan configured the wires above her and nodded. She slipped a few times, but completed the connections; but Missei’s grip on the valve was not firm enough. He cursed under his breath.

  
“You see what I’m up against,” she said.

  
“It is not a good angle for me.”

  
“I’m not sure there is a good angle.” He agreed but insisted on trying. Again it didn’t work.

  
“Let me move a bit,” he suggested.

  
“Can you?” He allowed a wry smile at this, and wriggled his shoulders until his left arm, which had been trapped between them, was free. He hesitated a moment, then snaked his arm around her, grabbed a bar behind her and pulled himself a few inches closer to the valve. She was on her side completely pinned against the far wall of the narrow tube, nose to nose with him. She felt herself losing focus on the task, distracted by the heat of his body, the feel of his heavily muscled arm around her. She mentally shook herself. “Okay, let’s do this again.”

  
She made the connections again, and he braced himself with his left hand and strained to turn the valve. At last it worked and they let out of shared gasp of relief.

  
“Now how do we get out of here?” she giggled. He smiled at her, and she gave in to impulse. With her one free arm she pulled his head to her and kissed him. He was tentative at first, but quickly gave in to her, allowing the kiss to grow deeper and more passionate. He pulled himself even closer to her, crushing her back against the steel bar he was gripping, but she didn’t care.

  
He suddenly broke the embrace, a look of—what was it? horror? fear?—in his eyes. He inched hurriedly out of the housing hitting his head a few times, and catching the back of his hand on something sharp.

  
“I’m sorry,” she called out, doing her best to follow him. “I’m sorry,” she said again as she managed to extricate herself from the tube.

  
He was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. “Missei?” Blood trickled from his hand and she moved toward him. He pulled back and shook his head. Iylan watched him for a moment then went to a cabinet in search of the first aid kit. When she returned to him and handed him some bandages, he looked up at her with a pitiable expression. She knelt down by him and watched as he absent-mindedly wrapped gauze around the wound. Struggling with the bandage, he eventually submitted to her. She cautiously took his hand and carefully wrapped it. “I’m sorry. I thought…I thought you felt the same way. I shouldn’t have.”

  
He heaved a sighed. “It was no mistake of yours.” She released his hand and he quietly thanked her, but avoided her eyes. “I do want you,” it was a whisper. “But I cannot.”

  
“You’re married?”

  
He shook his head then craned around to check that the door was closed, a wary look in his eyes. At last he met her gaze. “It is forbidden.” She gave him a questioning look. “The Zabrak prize the purity of their race. We are not allowed to…interbreed with others.”

  
“It was just a kiss.”

  
He smiled wryly. “No it wasn’t.” She nodded. “Even for that there would be severe penalties.”

  
“It all sounds a bit racist to me.” Her voice was tinged with anger.

  
He shrugged. “Perhaps. Let’s call it xenophobia. We have always been proud of our culture, but the prohibition became that much more important after the Dathomirians. The Zabrak hate that they were enslaved and forced to breed with humans.”

  
“How long ago was that?”

  
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It is law. Our purity is a huge part of who we are. I can’t expect you to understand the reasons behind it, but please understand that I cannot abandon my people for…”

  
The word went unsaid. She understood…sort of. But it hurt. She didn’t remember the last time she had felt so attracted to someone and yet so comfortable. She didn’t know what they would have become if he hadn’t refused her. Would they have had lasting romance? A passionate fling? Something in between. Damn, that kiss was good.

  
She looked away from him. “You’ve gotten blood all over the place.” She often did that: changed the subject when she was embarrassed or uncomfortable. “I’ll clean this up. You should get over to the medical officer to check on that cut.”

  
She got up and bustled about, looking for a rag or something to clean with. He recognized her reaction as a dismissal and rose to leave. Before the door he stopped. “Iylan, please do not tell anyone about this.” She nodded absently. He grabbed her arm, stopped her as she passed. “Iylan.”

  
She met his eyes, nodded firmly. “Of course not.”

  
He released her, and she sat down to clean the drying drips of his blood.

 

  
***

 

  
The door chime sounded. Iylan begrudgingly put down her book and stomped over to open the door. It was frustrating that no one ever called or came over to her apartment, apart the moment she found something really interesting and relaxing to engage in. She supposed it was a universal principal that all people had to deal with; she smirked to herself and opened the door.

  
It was the last thing, the last person she expected. She hadn’t seen or heard from Missei for seven months, not since they had said their awkward farewells at the space station. She gaped at him, unable to find the words.

  
He stared back at her with his yellow eyes, an expression of pure misery etched upon his tattooed face.

  
Missei found himself wondering why he was here. He had spent the last two weeks finding out where she was and then battling himself over what to do about it. And here he was. She was the same, he supposed. He realized that there was a part of him that never really knew her, never analyzed her personality, never really thought about what she looked like. She was so small: he was used to Zabrak women who were long and lean like the men. Her large blue eyes peered out at him from the short platinum hair that was perennially falling in her face. She was so very…human. Apart from the fact that she was human, she was nothing like the women he was ordinarily attracted to. Why had they kissed? Why was he here?

  
Iylan saw that the usually quiet Missei was not going to offer her a quick and easy explanation for his standing outside her door. Still at a loss for words herself, she reached out gently to take his hand. He flinched, and she recoiled. She tried again, and this time he let himself be led into her apartment.

  
She fetched some wine, hoping it would be to his liking. It wasn’t (she could tell easily by the sneer on his face as he sipped it—he was such a snob), but he quickly downed the goblet and waited for her to refill it. She led him to the couch and sat beside him, trying hard to be patient. At last she took his hand. He let her take it, regarded her small white hand in his own.

  
“I have nothing,” he uttered at last. His expression changed from misery to anger.

  
“What do you mean? What happened?”

  
He released her hand, pushed it from him, and glared at her. “You’ve taken everything from me,” he hissed.

  
She was shocked by his anger, and grew frightened as his feelings intensified the fierceness of his Zabrak appearance. But she reminded herself that the Missei she knew was kind and gentle. She hoped that she knew the real man.

  
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”

  
“They found out. I’m exiled.” His voice was dead.

  
Iylan shook her head. “Found out what? We didn’t do anything.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Alright, fine, we kissed. That’s all. We kissed. And nobody even saw.” She racked her brain trying to think of some explanation for it all. “I didn’t tell anybody, I swear.”

  
“I know.”

  
“Then why the hell are you so angry at me?”

  
“Everyone could see it,” he answered.

  
“What are you talking about? No one saw me kiss you.”

  
He heaved a sigh and his powerful shoulders slumped. “Not the kiss,” he said. “The fact that there was something between us.”

  
He looked up and saw that she was waiting warily for an explanation. “A cousin of mine met one of the team members from the Vendocran project. You remember Karoma.” Iylan nodded. “Karoma said she knew a Zabrak from work. In talking about me, she just casually mentioned that you and I were clearly… in love. Karoma gushed to my cousin about how romantic it was that we were clearly trying to hide it from everyone else: the looks we gave each other, how we spent all our time together but pretended to ignore each other at meals, everything.”

  
Iylan was confused. “But we didn’t. Did we? I mean after I kissed…”

  
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “The fact is my cousin heard enough to incriminate me in the eyes of the tribe. My family has disowned me.”

  
“But that’s not fair.”

  
He shrugged.

  
“So now you’re here. Why?”

  
She wasn’t sure what she expected or wanted to hear from him. Sure there was a huge part of her that craved to hear that he wanted her, that it would all be okay if he could have her. But was that what she really wanted? She had resigned that he had been the one that got away. But what was there between them? Did they have something more? When she kissed him it was an impulse. She hadn’t considered him in that way, hadn’t wanted him before they were crammed in that stupid housing. Did Karoma and the others see the truth that neither of them did at the time?

  
“I don’t know,” he replied, then looked hard at her. “I suppose I wondered if you were worth it?” It was callously said. She bristled at that but remained silent. “What was it about you that tempted me to the point of such carelessness? What was I thinking?”

  
His words brought upon her a sudden sense of self-consciousness; she was too aware that she was not at her best. She felt tears begin to well in the corners of her eyes. Damn, she would not let him push her into that subservient role. She rose and stomped off toward the bedroom.

  
“Show yourself out,” she called, her voice hoarse from repressing the tears.

  
He followed her, blocked the door. She tried to push him out, but he was a monolith of muscle. “Why did you kiss me?” he demanded.

  
She shook her head vigorously, tears starting to escape. “I don’t know. Now get out!”

  
“Why?”

  
She pushed harder. Still he did not move. “You kissed me back, you know.”

  
Suddenly his mouth was on hers, his hand pressing firmly on the small of her back. The kiss was feverish, animalistic. He grabbed the tops of her arms and half pushed, half carried her toward the bed. His strength was alarming. He crushed her to him, then pushed her back onto the bed. He held her down with one hand, tore her underwear from her body, and began to unfasten his trousers. His eyes were fierce and full of hatred.

  
Iylan was terrified. This was not the Missei she knew and thought she might have loved. Though she had wanted him, her tiny body now fought like a wild animal to be free of him.

  
“Stop it! Stop it!” she yelled over and over.

  
At last he heard.

  
He staggered back until he hit the wall, stared back at her with an expression of horror.

  
Iylan sat on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and regarding him like a wary animal with her large blue eyes. Missei registered her tear-dampened cheeks. He closed his eyes and sighed in despair.

  
She stared at him for a long time, waiting for him to make a move, to say something. At last he turned, fastened his trousers, and left the room. She waited to hear the front door, but there was no sound. She pulled some pants on, cautiously crept out of the bedroom and found him staring out the window at the cityscape, his wineglass in one hand and the bottle in the other. She watched him for a few minutes.

  
“Hey,” she whispered. He turned to look at her with weary eyes. “Give me some of that, will you?” He filled his glass and offered it to her, then took a swig from the bottle. It was such an odd thing for him to do somehow, so incongruous with his nature, and she almost smiled. He grimaced at the taste.

  
“It’s pretty awful stuff, you know,” he said.

  
She allowed a small smirk to play on her lips. “So I gathered.”

  
Pain and sadness were plain on his face. “Iylan, I…I don’t know what I can say…I…”

  
“There’s nothing you can say, I guess,” she said flatly. She was so angry with him, yet still she found herself pitying him. She understood it was not true aggression, but the intensity of his loss that had caused him to act so. It was no excuse, but she knew she was safe now and couldn't hate him. She gulped down the wine. “Don’t ever pull that shit again.”

  
He shook his head remorsefully.

  
“Are you done hating me?” she asked, her head held proud.

  
“I don’t hate you,” he answered simply.

  
There was so much more to say, but both were silent, not knowing how to proceed. It was full dark now. The wine was drained as they watched the lights come on in the city. At last Iylan broke the silence. She was slightly resentful that it was always she who had to do so with the ever-quiet Missei.

  
“Have you eaten yet?” He shook his head. “I’m starving, myself. So how about I grab us some dinner and get some decent wine?”

  
He allowed a playfully suspicious look at this and nodded.

  
“Promise me you’ll be here when I get back?” she added.

  
He nodded again. She threw her jacket on and left.

 

  
***

 

  
When she returned, Missei was on the couch, his head tilted back, eyes closed. She watched him sleeping, considering him. Although alien in some ways, he was undeniably handsome, his tattoos accentuating the strong planes of his face. And the lean strength of his body; she found herself going back to that day on the station when she first saw him practicing Kembrak-whatever the hell it was, watching him move like a graceful predator as he arced and slashed. What was it about this man? Where was this going to go?

  
She put the packages down in the kitchen and returned to the sitting room, removed her jacket. She smiled sadly at him and grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair. She circled behind the couch, gently covered his sleeping form, and stooped to kiss his head.

  
She felt his long fingers on the nape of her neck, and she kissed him again. His hand pulled her head lower as he arched his neck toward her kiss. The kiss was warm, lingering, not the frenzied, angry hunger of before. She hated to break it, but two of his horns were digging painfully into the side of her neck. His fingers trailed from her neck and down her arm as she released him from the kiss.

  
“Hungry?”

  
He opened his eyes at last and looked up at her. It was clear that any hunger he felt had nothing to do with food. She regarded him warily, still feeling fragile from his attack earlier.

  
Missei registered her discomfort and felt a deep pang of regret. He straightened and choked back his longing for her. “Of course,” he said at last. “You said you were starving earlier.”

 

  
***

 

  
They sat on the couch, eating their dinners and drinking the much-improved vintage. He was grateful she had remembered his preference for well-spiced food, and realized that he had barely been eating over the past several weeks. Since the accusation and subsequent meeting with his family and the tribal elders, Missei had had a knot in his stomach the size of a Gordronian’s fist. Eventually it subsided to a hollowness. Only his need to continue on with working, earning money, motivated him to do the bare minimum to care for himself. He was glad that his position required travel, that he was not confined to one spot or close to his former homeworld.

  
He was not surprised to learn that Iylan had changed jobs right after the Vendocran project. She had mentioned it as a possibility as they had said their goodbyes then. It made sense; they’d only be assigned together over and over, dredging up uncomfortable feelings and awkward conversations. She was teaching now at the local university and doing research there.

  
“When do you have to go out on your next assignment?” Iylan asked. She tried to ask it calmly, but part of her was hoping desperately that it would be weeks from now, that she could have him all to herself. Look at her! So hopelessly head-over-heels already. But, of course it wasn’t like that. She had fallen for him on the space station, and had merely fooled herself that that wasn’t the case. She had pined for him for the past seven months, remembering every day with crystal clarity that forbidden kiss. She silently cursed herself for her romantic folly.

  
“In two days,” he answered. “I have my belongings at a hotel.”

  
“You know you can stay here,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes darted back and forth, nervous.

  
“Are you sure?”

  
She forced herself to look at him and nodded. His eyes were soft, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

  
He put down his plate and glass, and beckoned to her. She smiled shyly and put down her glass, edged closer to him. He regarded her affectionately and combed her blond forelock from eyes, savoring the softness of her hair. None of his previous lovers had had hair, and he marveled at the shiny silk between his fingers.

  
“Missei,” her voice was strained. How to say this? “I need to know…I need to be sure…” He waited patiently for her. She continued at last, “I need to know that this,” she gestured vaguely at the two of them, “This is not just…I need to know why this is.”

  
He shook his head, clearly indicating that he was at a loss as well. He took her hand gently, raised it to his lips and held it there.

  
“Was Karoma--were they all—right?” she asked.

  
He released her hand, leaned back, and closed his eyes wearily. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m confused, too.” After a moment he turned his head and looked at her. Their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity.

  
Iylan at last grew uncomfortable, broke the gaze, and cleared her throat. “I’ve thought about you, that kiss, every single day since for the past seven months.” She cautiously peered back at him. “Every day.”

  
His mouth turned up in a slight smile. It was a while before he spoke. “Me too,” he said at last.

  
It was her turn to smile now, and she tried to force herself to suppress it a bit so she didn’t look like the manic lovelorn fool she felt she was.

 

She excused herself and went to wash up. What are you doing? she asked the reflection in the mirror. But she recognized the glimmer in her eyes and knew it was, in fact, love. She cursed lightly and shook her head.

  
When she came out of the bathroom he was there waiting in her bedroom doorway, his form silhouetted against the lights of the living room. This time it wasn’t frightening. There was no hostility in his features or his pose.

  
She held a hand out tentatively to him, and he took it, pulled her slowly toward him. She circled her arms across his broad back and pressed her cheek against his chest. So long she had wanted to hold him like this, but she hadn’t really realized it until that moment. He combed his hands through her hair and let them trail down her back.

  
“I’m so in love with you I can barely think,” she admitted.

  
His embrace tightened with her words. She leaned her head back, peering up at his face so tall above her. They kissed.

  
Their kisses became hungrier and more frantic, and she realized her fingernails were digging into his back. Desperate for closeness they hurriedly shed their clothes and embraced again. His body was perfection, the clean angles and swirls of his tribal tattoos accentuating each well-toned muscle.

  
“I love you.” His voice was rough with desire as he tossed the coverlet to the side and pressed her back onto the bed. He kissed her passionately, his tongue exploring.  
He parted her legs roughly and she rose, warm and wet, to meet him as he plunged into her depths. He thrust hard into her over and over, and the pain was delicious. She raked her nails down his muscular back and sunk her fingers into the flesh of his buttocks. He stabbed again, and she nipped at his shoulder.

  
Missei pulled back, looked into her eyes with a question.

  
“What? Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  
He moved more slowly within her and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together. She ran her tongue up his throat and nipped playfully along his jaw. He moaned softly and edged his sharp teeth gently down her neck.

  
“Mark me,” he breathed into her neck. She made a little noise of confusion. “Bite me.” He pointed at the flesh above his collarbone.

  
She pulled him closer and bit down. He moved his hips against her.

  
“Harder,” he urged.

  
“I don’t want to hurt you.”

  
“Harder.” His voice was insistent and full of yearning. He ran his teeth along her shoulder. She sunk her teeth deep into his skin. “Harder,” he urged again. “Break the skin. Mark me.” He began thrusting hard again, deeper as she bit harder and deeper herself. He came with a gasp, and she released his shoulder.

  
He kissed her, running his tongue along the planes of her teeth. “Your little human teeth are pathetic,” he teased.

  
“And yours are scary.”

  
He nudged her neck with his nose and tried to look at his shoulder. “Did you even mark me?”

  
“What are you talking about? I guess you’ll have a heck of a bruise, but it may be hard to see with your skin and tattoos.” He frowned at her, and she looked dubiously at him. “I love you, Missei. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  
“I was tattooed all over my body at the age of twelve. I think I can handle a bite from a tiny human.”

  
“It’s kinda weird.”

  
He moved off her and lay on his side, his arm draped over her stomach. “You don’t understand.” She shook her head. “I thought when you first bit me that you…” She shook her head again. “It’s very important to me. It is a symbol of commitment. I know you aren’t Zabrak, but…”

  
She softened and felt a bit ashamed. She had thought it was just some kinky thing he was into. She forced herself to remember that he was not human, that their cultural differences would always play a part in their relationship. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t know.”

  
Suddenly her eyes widened in realization, and fear. “Oh! You want to bite me.” Missei regarded her evenly, calmly. “I don’t have the pain threshold of a Zabrak, Missei,” she said, her voiced edged with panic.

  
He stroked her hair. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he soothed. He continued, “But pain is part of it. The lingering pain and the scar are a reminder of the love. And the mark shows others…”

  
“That I’m your property?” she interrupted.

  
“That you are part of a committed relationship,” he corrected, his voice tense. “Don’t be ignorant, Iylan. You’ve never been before. It’s one of the things that made me fall for you.”

  
This was insanity. First date, and he’s talking about scarring her. But it made sense somehow. Other cultures had their tokens of love: matching jewelry or even tattoos. Her first instinct was to say no, she wasn’t Zabrak, why should she do it? But then she remembered that he had so little of his culture left to him. Why should hers take precedence? And she already was made with love for him, ready to commit forever, ready to lose herself completely. Perhaps that was what scared her: not so much the pain, as the loss of emotional inhibition with him.

  
“My shoulder? Like yours?”

  
He nodded.

  
She saw trust and love in that face and knew that she would do this for him, for them.

  
“You won’t bite too hard, will you? I do need to use my arm again,” she quipped.

  
“I know how to mark a woman, Iylan.”

  
She raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, do you?”

  
“You aren’t my first lover,” he admitted. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “But this is…different. You are different. This is…more.” He kissed her again, and she melted into the kiss.

  
“Okay. But quick, before I change my mind.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “How do we do this?”

  
“You’ll need to try again, too.” He thought for a moment, then nudged her onto her side and spooned behind her. His right arm cradled her head and he placed the forearm before her. “The skin on the inside of my arm is thinner, and not scarred with tattoos. It should be easier for you to draw blood.”

  
She shuddered at the idea of blood, nearly backed out of the deal. “I don’t have to draw much blood, do I?”

  
“No,” assured her. “Just enough to leave a mark.” He kissed the back of her neck, and she relaxed some. “I love you.” His breath was hot on her skin, and she sighed.

  
“And I love you.”

  
He ran his tongue down her neck and along her shoulder, then slowly opened his mouth over her, raking his teeth gently along her skin. It was such a sensuous experience that Iylan found herself suddenly desperate for him to bite her.

  
He did. He pressed down, slowly, harder and harder. Iylan began to squirm and whimper. Missei tightened his grip on her and thrust his arm toward her mouth, and she allowed it between her teeth. As he sunk his teeth in deeper, hurting her exquisitely, she tried to channel the pain into her own bite. A part of her vaguely registered that he had grown hard again. His teeth clamped down tighter, at last breaking the skin, and she wrenched at his arm, tasted the iron tang of his blood.

  
Tears were running down her cheeks when they released each other. He lapped gently at the dots of blood welling on her skin and kissed her softly.

  
“Thank you,” he whispered.

  
Her head swam with confusing emotions: pain, fear, longing, relief, and love. She could say nothing. AT last she rose and padded to the bathroom.

  
“Don’t bandage it,” he warned.

  
She switched on the light and looked at the angry wound in the mirror. It was bruising fast, with fine pinpricks of blood congealing in an arc. She grabbed a cloth.

  
“Don’t,” he said firmly, coming up behind her. “Leave it alone. It will be fine.”

  
“It fucking hurts,” she complained.

  
“Of course it does.” She glared at him. He looked down at his arm, smiled at the circular bruise and irregular dots of blood. “It’s a good mark…for a human.” His voice was playfully condescending. She narrowed her eyes at him and resisted, barely, the impulse to slap him.

  
She turned to the mirror to inspect the wound. Her eyes were burning with confusion and hurt. He came up behind her, circled his left, undamaged, arm across her chest and pulled her tight against him. They regarded their connected forms in the mirror. His marked red arm was stark against her pale skin. His horned and tattooed head rested against her platinum hair.

  
How could this ever work? This clash of race and culture…

  
Then their eyes met. Though his were gold and hers blue, the love and passion behind them blurred the differences between them. They saw only each other.

  
It would work.


End file.
